The Candle Burns Poem by Satish Verma
The Candle Burns
Not a single word added today
to my tinsel book. The brown eyes
were searching my smile.
You want to close the happening
of first moon and the fig.
My roses start a new dialect,
waiting on the clouds, almost
in rains, spreading the wetting
agent between the eyes.
The distance was the most crucial
thing, that does not end;
endlessly stretching.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
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4/23/2024 5:27:38 AM # 1.0.0.1119
